Mother Nature

When I was in high school, a friend of mine thought it would be wise to share candidly what he thought was wrong with each of his friends. His opinion as a professional high schooler was obviously well-received. When my turn came, he told me: “Nora, you don't have to be everyone's mother.” At the time, I was mortally wounded. Me, acting like a mom? In high school, that is an insult of the most offensive nature.

Since then, I have discovered that this young mind had stumbled onto something that runs very deep in my personality: my mothering nature.

In high school, I was the go-to listening ear among my friends. I could tell when they needed me, so I would listen to their woes and then offer the little bit of insight I had. Everyone told me I should consider becoming a counselor, and my answer was always that I planned to graduate from counseling at the end of high school.

As an adult, my friendships took on qualities far more complex and less dramatic than those developed in high school. In response, my mothering nature matured. As I began to listen to the adult-sized woes of people I loved, my tender heart broke – and it broke frequently. I would offer what advice I could and listen when advice was superfluous. But all the while, not too far below my calmly compassionate surface, there was – and is – a bubbling turmoil of empathy.

At this point, I must make it clear that I am not writing this to laud my own achievements in the compassion department. I am aware of this aspect of my quirky personality, and while it may be on some lists of virtues, it causes me far more pain than is reasonable. My intention is not to form an inflated view of myself in which I appear to be the next Mother Teresa. As I have stated previously, the point of this blog is to explore methods to remove this weighty world from my flimsy shoulders.

I have been described as empathetic to a fault. I have somehow found a way to channel this instinctual nurturing emotion into something excruciating and unhealthy: anxiety. My emotional state progresses rather quickly from calm to turmoil. When I discover that someone I love is experiencing some kind of difficulty – ranging from a minor headache to a ruptured family – I am filled with sympathy and my heart aches in empathy. I then rapidly search through my mental file folders for possible cures or anesthetics. When one is found, I immediately suggest it to the injured party. Sometimes, my suggestion is gratefully accepted and the headache goes away within thirty or forty minutes. Other times, I can find no solution, and the unsolved problem plagues me indefinitely. Still other times, something far worse happens: my advice goes unheeded.

While my mothering nature was given to me by my Creator, the quirks related to it come straight from my very own mother. One of these quirks is that I do not respond well when my advice is not accepted. I have little patience for people who will complain about a problem and then take no steps to resolve it. So I do what mothers do best – I nag. This nagging is not well-received by a mother's own children, so it is definitely not well-received by people wholly unrelated to me, and I have almost lost friends this way.

When I finally realized that this diabolical need to nurture was causing some problems, I was at a loss for solutions. At my very core, I am a mom, even though I don't have any children of my own. This is how God made me. I am a nurturer; I cannot stop caring this deeply, and have no wish to try. I have since realized that it is not the caring that gets me into trouble, but how I act on it. There are so many different mistakes I make because I care so deeply that there is no way to fit them in this already absurdly-long post. (The next few posts will discuss each of these mistakes at length.)

For now, I will close with this consolation: “Is there anyone among you who, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you then, although you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” (Mt 7:9-11, NET) No matter how deeply you love, God's love is deeper. No matter how confident you are in your ability to solve this problem, God is far more able. And no matter how anxious you are, God is in control.